


Portable Acid Vat

by wellhereweare



Series: 1920s Supervillain AU [5]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 1920s SVAU, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Chains, Collar, Extremely Stomach, M/M, So much Belly, Soft Vore, Vore, Vore Day 2020, forced vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25781347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellhereweare/pseuds/wellhereweare
Summary: Randall's pleased to be spending time with his favorite hero, Clive the Clockwork Apostle, but it's not always a good time.
Relationships: Randall Ascot/Clive Dove
Series: 1920s Supervillain AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717498
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Portable Acid Vat

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of 'eh' on my submission for Vore Day, so this might see heavy revision at some point. Also very probably not "canon" for the Night Pieces universe. It's just a fun one to play in for kink, lol, and also I was dying to write these two together more.
> 
> Triggers:  
> Unwilling cannibalism, soft(ish) vore style  
> Violence/Murder Mentions  
> Terrible first times (kind of)  
> Perception of having a 3some sprung on him without negotiation and going with it

“I thought I was supposed to be killing a guy.” Randall said, amused. “Not that I mind…” The redhead rattled the chains at his delicate wrists, holding him spread eagle on the bed. More were latched at his ankles. 

Working in France with his lover was an interesting experience. Partly because getting tapped as a hero was  _ hilarious _ , and partly because Randall didn’t really know what to expect from a relationship. Horrifyingly, Hershel and the kid were the closest things he had to role models of what a relationship looked like. It wasn’t ideal. Hershel had refused to buy the brat a horse and spent three days with his mind trapped in a teddy bear.

Clive loomed over him in his brisk white suit, broad shouldered and terminally unimpressed. Randall grinned. They hadn’t fucked yet, but he knew what bed chains in a nice hotel room meant. He stretched, thighs wide and lowered his lids. Clive snorted. 

“We’re still killing a guy. You should really ask for details before you agree to shit.” He said, stepping around the bed where it was pulled away from the bed. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The redhead tried to lurch up as the man passed, but he was too tightly bound. Clive jerked open the hotel closet door, and a ragged man, naked except for rope and a gag, fell out of it onto the thick carpet. “Clive?”

Randall wasn’t a cautious being by nature, but watching Clive heft the guy up by one arm, he thought maybe he should have thought a little harder about letting the bastard chain him up. As much as he enjoyed the way the man’s shoulders shifted as he dragged the guy towards the bed, it wasn’t really helping the sudden feeling he was going to have to sneak home covered in blood. “What,” He asked, the bound man’s cock about the length of a hand away from his face, “the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

“Open your mouth and stop talking.” 

That worked. Not what he wanted for what was, essentially, his first time, but he could handle it. Randall locked eyes with Clive and licked his lips slowly, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth.

Clive’s thin fingers slipped inside, rough on his tongue before hooking into his jaw and pulling. Randall yelped, but Clive kept going until the joint creaked ominously. Eyes open now, Randall could see the younger man push his captive’s head down.

He thought for a bizarre moment Clive was going to make them kiss until ragged hair brushed his lips. Randall fought, jerking away, but Clive pressed the head harder into his mouth as the hand in Randall’s mouth yanked it open further. The scream mingled with the noises drifted out of the captive. 

He could feel his mouth stretching around the man’s head, lips aching at the edges. His whole face hurt, but no matter how he writhed, he couldn’t get away. Pushing insistently, Clive was winning, slowly.

The shoulders came next, and the aching exploded into a deep burn. Tears started to pour out of his eyes as he twisted.

A hand on his throat.  _ I hate you _ , he thought, as Clive finally slipped his fingers out of Randall’s mouth. 

“You’re actually doing pretty well.” He said blandly. “This isn’t the widest part of him, but if you can get past it, you’ll do fine with the rest.” 

_ I don’t want to do fine,  _ he thought, petulant, but Clive gently massaging the growing lump in his throat made him whine. 

His lips dragged over clammy skin until finally, the widest part of the shoulders were past his teeth. Randall shook, sweaty. The massage intensified, shifting to the muscles over his ribs as the body moved deeper into Randall. He could feel it, filling him up and battering his insides out of the way. The worst part was that he could tell Clive wasn’t pushing anymore, just holding the body. The contractions of Randall’s own throat were drawing it in now, even as he struggled. 

“Kids, too. I mean, you’re pretty violent and trashy, but you’re good to kids, mostly.” Clive was saying, by the time Randall could focus on anything happening outside of his body. “And anyway, I figured with the healing factor this would be pretty efficient.”

The stomach was the widest part of the body, but Clive was right. It was easy to take it after the shoulders. The problem was feeling his own stomach starting to fill. His aching throat pulled the body deeper. By the time his lips crept close to the man’s hips, his stomach started to bulge through his clothes, sloshing as the buttons strained. Almost echoing, the sound when they finally popped rang through the room as each came off. The knees passed into his throat and finally the feet. 

Randall panted, exhausted and aching. He could finally see what this little adventure had done to his body. His stomach, now massive, shook with each breath, and took up his whole line of sight. He whined, quietly, now that the tears had slowed. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He wheezed up at Clive, who didn’t seem at all bothered at force feeding him a whole body. The man simply reached into his coat to pull out a heavy metal collar, matching the manacles holding Randall onto the bed, and snapped it around Randall’s loose throat. “Motherfucker!” He managed to shout as Clive seamlessly, casually clicked a padlock onto the threads.

Struggling against the chains, already fruitless, was worse this large. All he’d managed to do was jiggle his growling belly. He’d never be able to force the body out with the collar keeping his throat from expanding.

“Settle down, you’ve done way worse.” Clive jeered, like Randall had said something stupid, not been stuffed with a person.. 

“Yeah, with  _ knives _ . I was in control.” He snarled. Clive snorted. His smile made Randall almost as happy as it made him angry, and that made Randall even angrier.

“You’re never in control.”

That was a fair point, but being wrong had never stopped Randall before. 

“Ok, but aren’t you supposed to be the hero? That was a person.” Randall countered. “Isn’t this a pretty hideous way to go about this?”

“There are people that can’t be fixed.” When he saw the look Randall shot him, Clive continued. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there are people even worse than you. Worse than Layton. We already shoot at you. Why are you so surprised?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m special.” Randall pouted, but Clive wasn’t listening, stepping around the bed to inspect him. “Can you at least tell me  _ why _ you thought this was a good idea?” 

Clive knelt on the bed, crawling close just as Randall’s belly gurgled loudly. He grinned and pressed his hands on it gently.

“Self filling acid bath.” Clive rubbed broad circles over it, and Randall noticed how hot his skin felt.  _ For fuck’s sake _ , he thought as he rocked his hips. Achingly hard, he watched Clive. 

The man dipped his head to kiss Randall’s stomach, still dragging his hands all over it. The growlling vibrated his whole body. It would have been embarrassing, but Clive seemed pleased. His hand dipped to the front of Randall’s trousers. 

“Huh.” Raised brow, his voice was teasing. “I should have guessed. I could help you out a little. Payment for services rendered and all.” His deft fingers had the taut waistband open before Randall could reply.

“Not objecting, but...” He rolled the next bit over in his head. It was embarrassing to admit outloud, and Clive generally did make fun of him. The lesson of the night was just a vivid reminder they couldn’t really trust each other. Still, this was the sort of thing he thought he could trust the man with. “I’ve never done this before. That I remember, anyway.” He added quickly. “Hershel swears we’ve fucked, but he lies about half the time his mouth is open.”

“Look, I can wait.” Clive said, but he was drawing a very nice cock out of his trousers. Randall’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t imagine feeling like this for some stuffy ass like Hershel, like he wanted to be taken apart.

“I just said it wasn’t an objection.” It was meant to be snappier, sharper, but it came out soft even to his own ears. Not soft, needy. Clive hummed, starting to drag his prick over Randall’s bare, groaning stomach.

“You sure?” Clive’s tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious. For a moment, there was only the gurgling of Randall’s wobbling belly, then Clive shrugged and stood.

Randall thought he’d changed his mind or at least planned to let him out of the chains. Instead, Clive took a knife out of Randall’s coat and fussed with something at the end of the bed until the chains clanked. Randall wasn’t free, but the bindings had enough leeway that when Clive climbed back up the bed between his legs, the man could press them all the way to the side.

Between the position and the heft of his body, the knife almost wasn’t necessary. Still, Clive tore through the trousers easily with them and set it aside. Clive settled the head of his heavy cock against Randall’s entrance. Randall’s breath caught in his throat, but the man just shifted his hips, dragging himself over the hole over and over.

“Fuck,” He whined. “I hate you.” Clive just chuckled.

“Ask nicely.”

“Fuuuck you...” He managed, trying to move back onto him. Impossible. He wondered how long it would take to be able to move again. Would the guy just digest, like food? Just disappear into Randall? The thought made him throb, and he whined. “Please, just fucking do it.”

Clive didn’t answer, but the push of his cock into Randall’s body was slow and unstoppable. His already overfilled body bubbled, and he threw his head back. Sunk to the hilt, Clive didn’t stop, didn’t give him any chance to adjust to the prickling burn. He just pulled out and did it over, harder.

A burp popped out of Randall’s throat, but Clive just laughed again, fucked him harder. The need to wriggle had returned, but strong hands held his legs. The rest of him was equally trapped as the chains on his wrists jangled with each hard stroke. 

Randall found himself watching his belly, the massive waves that moved through it as it wobbled. Clive dropped one of his legs in favor of grabbing at his stomach. Randall felt the motion rippling through him as he started to come apart.

Clive came first, pressing hard on Randall’s stomach as he lost control. The redhead tried to work up the air to curse him just as his rough fingers closed around Randall’s cock. It didn’t take long after that, until he spent himself in Clive’s pale hand.

The younger man wiped his hand on the linens and spread out beside Randall. Minutes passed, the only sounds panting and belly churning as they came down.

“I’m going to fucking gain weight from this, aren’t I?” Randall grumbled. “Can I at least go home already?”

“Healing factor.” Clive repeated, like it meant anything to Randall. “I brought some nice massage oils?”

Randall heaved a long sigh.

“Whatever, just fuck me again at some point.” He grumbled as Clive heaved himself upright and pushed sweat damp hair out of his face. 

The man returned after a moment with a small bottle of something that smelled pleasant and woody when he opened it. He poured about half over Randall’s bloated, rumbling belly, discarding it to massage the oil into stretched skin.

It eased some of the aching, and the soft smile Clive gave him as he worked made Randall think the experience might be worth being trapped here digesting someone. He was still going the egg the fucker’s house though.

  
  



End file.
